


Your Fault

by traumschwinge



Series: The Monk And The Demon [3]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Discussion of Sin, Faustian Bargain, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, I make things up as I go here, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic, Nameless OC in a minor role
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The demon has finally started to live up to his promises and is teaching Charles some of his magic. And yet Charles still isn't sure if he even likes being in Erik's company. The demon has the annoying habit of asking him just the wrong questions. There are times when he's tempted to just leave that damned tome in the woods and go on on his own. But the healing spell he has now learned will definitely be useful. Charles could really make a difference with it. If only people just were as good as he hoped and not as bad as he knows them to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Fault

“I really do wonder what your biggest fault is,” Erik remarked out of the blue one day. They were on their way south, which had been their general direction ever since Charles had left the monastery. Once, the demon had asked why. But he had only gotten a shrug in response and a dismissive “South is as good as any direction” and Erik had left it at that for now. There hadn't been many other options anyway. And South was much easier than the mountains of the North.

“Why do you even care?” Charles kept his eyes fixed on the ground, lest he wanted to stumble over a hidden root or fallen branch. His never new robes were worn down to the threads by now. It had been months, he guessed. He had stopped counting the days a while ago.

Erik shrugged. _Of course_ , Charles noted with a mental huff, _the demon's clothing was immaculate as ever_. “I was wondering to pass the time and now I'm curious,” he said after a while.

“Shouldn't you know?” Charles was too busy staying on his feet for another hour or two to care. What he would do for a decent meal that wasn't stolen or found in the woods. He was sick and tired of mushrooms and roots and wild herbs, but still weary of hunting game. There were certain rules he was not yet ready to break.

“I thought I did,” the demon said. When Charles didn't respond, he went on,”I thought it was lust, at first. It seemed far to easy to lure you in with my charms. Then I thought, maybe greed, the hunger for power, because that's something I could grant easily. Now, I don't know what to think anymore. It's not gluttony, or you would have simply have stayed with the church. It's definitely not sloth, you're far too studious and ready to wander. Is it envy? But then I wonder who you could be envious of and I fail to see anyone. Is it pride? Because that, I can see in you. A pride that burns strong.”

Charles shrugged. They had reached a narrow creek and he was more than willing to take a break before walking on. There might be a village not far from here. He had heard what had sounded like axes cutting into wood before. Although on the other hand, that might just have been a branch hitting the trunk of a tree in the wind. Then again, he was in no mood to deal with the demon's musings. If he continued to walk, he could at least pretend he wasn't listening.

He cursed as his foothold slipped and he fell, cutting his palm on a broken twig and twisting his ankle. The demon grinned and then started to outright laugh at him when Charles shot him an angry look. “Your blasphemous words are like music to my ear as always,” Erik chuckled.

“If I was to die here, you would stay with me to rot in this place as well,” Charles hissed as he stumbled back to his feet. His ankle ached in protest and threatened to give way under his weight. He carefully shifted as much weight as he dared onto his other leg.

The demon helped him hobble to a stone by the water and looked at him. “You really think I won't survive a few decades in moist woods?” He sounded amused but there was a tiny spark of concern in his eyes.

Charles looked away. “I'll burn that book before I die,” he hissed but there was not much fire to his words.

“I'm sure you will,” the demon grinned. “Why don't you stay here for a moment and I prepare to show you a new trick?”

Charles huffed but he didn't protest. It had been a while since Erik had shown him the last spell. By now, creating globes of light or small flames or even letting dry enough twigs burst into flames was so easy it was almost boring. And now was as good a time as any to learn a new trick as Erik had called it. His ankle thumped painfully in agreement.

Charles watched Erik disappearing in the undergrowth. It wasn't long before he was back but the sounds of it while he was gone indicated that one unlucky tree had not survived its encounter with the demon. And he had thought that before he had seen the smoldering piece of wood in Erik's hand. With a wink and a grin, he dipped the makeshift bucket into the clear water, filling it to the brim before he walked back over to Charles again and dropped the bucket before his feet.

“Today, I will show you how to turn common water like this into healing water,” Erik announced.

The look on the demon's face told Charles that this would be noting near as simple as summoning light. He just wished he hadn't been right. It took him almost all of the remaining hours of daylight and two more buckets of water before he was able to heal the cut in his palm. By then, his ankle was red and swollen, sending hot pain up his leg whenever he dared to move it. He used the remaining water in the bucket and his new found ability to soothe most of the ache away.

Erik had gone a while ago and didn't return until the night had settled, two rabbits and a few herbs and roots and wretched mushrooms in his hands. Charles for once didn't question the origin of his food, he was just glad he had it. The afternoon of spilling water had left him weary down to his very bones.

 

**~*~**

 

They reached the next town a few days later. It was a small town and Charles was glad to see it. Towns meant inns. Towns meant food that wasn't stolen or dug out of the earth. Towns also meant that he would need money or at least some goods he was willing to trade to get any of those. And that was a problem, seeing that he hadn't anything but the rugs he was wearing and the tome securely tugged away.

“I told you to steal at least something from the monastery's treasury. But would you listen to me? No,” Erik grinned, his arms crossed behind his head. Charles was by now sure other people only saw him when he wanted them to—which was almost never the case.

“It was bad enough that I stole the tome,” Charles muttered under his breath, careful not to be overheard by anyone. It wouldn't do him any good if people thought he was talking to himself.

The demon laughed. “Exactly. You had already stolen the book. Why not steal something to buy yourself food, clothes, maybe a horse? That wouldn't have made you any more of a thief. A book or gold or treasures, a thief's a thief.”

Charles huffed but said nothing. He could see Erik's point—now, at least. Too bad he hadn't seen it when there still was something that could be done about it. He sighed. “Looks like I will have to add liar to the long lists of things I am as well.”

“A liar? You?” Erik asked in mock astonishment. “I would never have thought you capable of anything but telling the truth.”

Charles shook his head. He was far too weary to squabble with the demon that was only making fun of him anyway, no matter what he said or did. He stayed quiet for the rest of the walk up to the town. The lone watchman at the gate in the palisades that looked like they were still around from Roman ages merely nodded at him as he passed by. Traveling monks were only rarely questioned and if so then only out of curiosity, never out of distrust. Just like Erik had, humans tended to assume that no monk could mean any harm to anything but maybe the pantry and, even worse, the wine cellar.

The streets of the town were dirty, like the streets of any town. The tamped ground of them was muddy and Charles was glad and thankful for his boots. He had never felt comfortable surrounded by the ever-present stink and dirt of human settlements. From what he'd read in some books, there had been better times with less illness before. He would always wonder why those times were gone and lost now.

Before long, he found himself in front of an inn. It didn't look too bad and business seemed to be quiet thanks to the early hour. Most of it's regulars would still be out on their fields or at their respective work within the town. And still Charles found himself hesitating to go in and ask the publican for a room or at least permission to stay in the stables for the night. He wasn't the pilgrim he looked. It would be a lie and not even lying by omission could change that.

“What are you waiting for?” Erik whispered against his ear, his breath tingling on Charles' skin. “The worst thing that could happen is that he won't let you stay. And in that case, we could still break into his stables at night and stay there anyway.” He placed his hands on Charles shoulders and gently pushed him toward the door. “Ask him. A good man will always offer shelter to a pilgrim in need. And a bad man deserves to get stolen from.”

“You're the worst, you know?” Charles muttered under his breath as he walked into the dim area behind the door. In the taproom, there were only two people beside himself, a young maid sweeping the floor with a broom in dire need of new bristles and a broad man standing behind the bar, looking grimly in his general direction.

“We don't give to beggars,” the man that Charles assumed to be the publican said before Charles had even opened his mouth.

“But,” Charles was about to protest when a meaty fist crashed onto the polished wood of the bar in front of him. He made the effort not to blink at this sudden display of violence. He had seen this far to often to be still fazed by it.

“Get out,” the man hissed, breathing right in Charles' face, his breath laden with the stale smell of too much beer. Charles was almost tempted to take the man onjust for that. He didn't like it when people treated others badly just because of what they looked like. “Get out,” the publican repeated, a little louder. “Or I will make you and you wouldn't be able to find all your teeth should that happen.”

Charles wanted to sigh and leave, pretending to go while in truth following Erik's plan of sneaking into the stables and staying there for the night, maybe even stealing a little bit of food from the kitchens. But the man had not even stopped talking yet when there was a thud behind and a low curse. Charles turned to find the maid next to a table she had apparently knocked over while sweeping.

On his way out, he helped the girl putting the table back up, only to notice a small cut at her arm in the middle of a growing bruise. Without really thinking, he reached into the bucket she had with her while cleaning and muttered what Erik had taught him, before he sprinkled the now healing water onto her bruised arm. He winked when she looked at him in wonder. “Don't tell anyone about this,” he whispered.

A minute later, he was out the door and down the street as fast as he could without actually running.

“What was that about?” Erik asked.

“Wait and see,” Charles replied smugly. He was on his way over to the church of the town where he took his seat on the steps, ignoring the protest it caused Erik to make. When he was sure Charles wouldn't move any time soon, he sighed, threw his arms up in the air with a desperate “Be that way” before he started to pace in front of Charles.

They didn't need to wait for long. At first, it was only the maid from the inn and two of her friends, standing a little bit away from Charles and watching him, unsure what to do. From time to time, they would whisper. Charles turned his face towards the sun as if to enjoy its warmth. Erik, on the other hand, was watching the youngsters intently and cursed from time to time.

“They're plotting your death, I'm sure of it,” he hissed after a while. “They want you death because they saw you practicing witchcraft.”

“These are good Christian sheep,” Charles chuckled lowly. “Only pagans believe in such a thing as witchcraft and magic. Good Christian's like them believe only in the Lord and his miracles.”

The demon snorted but didn't comment any further.

The shadows had started slowly to grow longer by the time the first of the youngsters approached Charles, closely followed by his friends. “Brother, my friend Liz said you could heal wounds with holy water,” he said. Charles was pleased to hear the boy's voice only shake a little. “Is that true?”

Charles smiled at him. “Why would a good girl like her make such a story up?” he said. “Of course it is true. This gift was granted to me and I came to this town to share it with its people, as I'm on my way to the Holy City of Rome to pay my respects and give my thanks.” He'd chosen his words carefully, for it was one thing to lie, but blasphemy was an entirely different story. Behind him, he could hear the demon snicker.

“Show us,” another boy burst out, thrusting his arms full of scratches out. Charles couldn't hide a little chuckle at that.

“You don't believe me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow but never loosing his smile. “So bring me water and I will show you that indeed, I can heal wounds.”

Some moments later, there was a bucket of mucky water next to Charles on the steps and he was dripping some of if onto the second boy's arms. The scratches started to heal before their eyes and the crowd let out sights of delight and wonder. The boy beamed at Charles. “Thank you, brother,” he said, before running off.

Charles was already looking at the bruises of a girl and gently tapping water onto them, when the boy returned, an apple and a bun in hand. “For you, brother,” he said and beamed even more, when Charles took the food and said his thanks.

Erik let out a low whistle. “So that was your plan?” he asked, watching Charles quickly stuffing a bit of the bun into his mouth before he went on healing the minor injuries of the town's children and youngsters.

“Something like that, yes,” Charles hummed in reply.

“Who are you talking to?” a wide-eyed child asked him.

“The one who granted me this power,” Charles replied, smiling at the child. He pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing when the conclusion came over the child's lips. “There's an angle with you.” Charles decided that it would be better not to correct her in her belief.

Soon enough, Charles had been given enough thanks in the form of food not to be hungry anymore for days to come and the crowd now didn't consist of only children anymore. Adults had joined them. It didn't take long until one overcame his distrust of the strange monk and his healing water to step forth and present Charles with what looked like the result of too close a contact with a scythe. It was a messy wound and took a lot more of water and Charles' newly learned magic to heal than the bruises before, but it earned him appreciating looks and a few fond smiles. It felt good to be of use. And from the look of that wound, he might just have saved the man's life.

Several other men and women followed. The bucket was filled again and then once more and more. Charles felt exhaustion creeping up on him, making it harder to concentrate on healing the wounds. The townsfolk, now grateful for his help and feeling obliged to pay him back, urged him to take the present of an old gelding that would make his further travels easier. Charles tried to refuse but couldn't when people started to beg him to take it rather than to make them remain in his guilt. With a sigh and secretly glad not having to walk on his own two feet any longer, Charles gave in.

The crowd started to dissolve, when Charles noticed a small boy, hiding behind a tree and staring at him. Charles smiled at the boy and waved him closer. “You don't have to be afraid,” he called. “I mean nobody any harm.”

“Liar,” Erik hummed from where he rested against his back. He had long lost any interest in Charles' doing and had taken on playing with the food Charles hadn't been able to eat anymore.

 _Oh shush_ , Charles thought, still not convinced the demon didn't know all the time just what was going on inside his head.

The boy hobbled closer, hiding one of his arms as far behind his back as he could. Charles clenched his teeth. Something wasn't right here. The fact that Erik had started to hum a happy tune and had now wrapped his arms around Charles to hold him close only kindled to his suspicion.

“Where are you hurt?” Charles asked. He didn't need to ask. He was sure without a doubt that it was the boy's arm.

Slowly, the boy extended the arm towards Charles. Most of the adults were now pointedly looking away. Charles had to swallow his rage when he started to feel the boy's arm for injuries. As soon as he touched, the boy started to whimper and dropped to his skinny knees. He looked about one breath away of pulling his arm back and running from Charles, if only to avoid any more pain.

But Charles had felt enough. He knew this kind of injury, the way the boy's arm had been broken. This wasn't a wound caused by accident like all the others he had healed that day. This was an injury caused with malicious intent.

“Who is your father?” Charles asked through gritted teeth. He already had dipped his hands into the almost empty bucket, drawing up the water he turned as quickly as he could, so the boy would be healed this moment rather than the next.

“The publican,” the boy whispered. “You came there this noon and he threw you out. I saw you there. I knew you were a good person.”

Charles couldn't help but ran a hand through the boy's dirty, messy hair. “Don't worry, I am,” he assured. Inside, rage was starting to burn him up but he swallowed it down again, turning it into steel and determination.

"Go and pack your things. Hurry," Charles whispered so only the boy could hear him.

"Why?" The boy mouthed.

"And tell him to take the till his father keeps under the loose floorboard behind the bar," Erik added. "We could use some money."

Charles rolled his eyes, but he knew Erik was right. For his plan, he would need some money. So he repeated the demon's words to the boy and added, "I will take you away, to another town, another place, far enough away so your father will never find you. You will be save."

The boy looked up at him in awe. "Are you an angel, Brother?"

Charles shook his head. "Not quite."

Not an hour later, the old inn was ablaze with inextinguishable flames. But that the boy couldn't know, being already miles away on the back of the gift horse Charles was riding. The only sign of the flames were their reflection behind Charles' eyes, where they would burn for days on end. Neither of them ever looked back to that town.

They didn't stop in any of the small parishes on their way. They didn't stay in the next town they passed. In the one after that, they stopped for the night, if only so they could buy new clothes, trousers and a shirt for Charles and a new shirt for the boy. All the time, Charles kept himself at a distance from the boy, no matter how close they were while riding. He also insisted on spending the nights out in the wild rather than staying at the various inns they rode by. If the boy thought that odd, he didn't say.

When they reached an old halfway house between towns, a little off the direct route, Charles stopped. He and the publican would talk for a long while, before the men shook hands and a not so small amount of coins was passed from one hand to another.

“You will stay here and do as this good man says, for he will teach you his trade,” Charles explained to the boy. “He means you no harm and if you will be good, one day you might inherit this place since he's without a wife and without a child.” With this, he turned and left, still able to taste the words _The last man to beat this boy has been burned to ashes along with his house_.

“Wrath,” Charles said so low his voice was barely audible. He had ridden for a while in silence, his gaze fixed on the road and ignoring Erik until now. The demon looked at him, his eyes bright and clearly visible despite the late hour. “You once asked me what my biggest fault is. It's wrath. Wrath at all of mankind for its cruel nature. I'm not a good person. I'm only good because that way, I hope to crush and overcome all the cruelty I've been seeing in men.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how this happened. I had the first paragraph and the last and then started to bounce up and down between them, filling in the fic. I hope it was nevertheless readable.


End file.
